on Most Days

by Yazzy Boiragee

most days I wake up and say :

this is gonna be a great day cause Ima do whatever the fuck I wanna do

I wanna sleep, make breakfast have coffee, read my morning tumblr and watch supernatural

maybe check my okcupid-yes i have an okcupid cause the dating life for a 20somethin year old ain’t too hot these days. I got better chances gettin laid-now ain’t that a bitch.

I pick up some clothes, mainly comfy and wash my face brush my teeth. Step outside and breathe.

most days I’m reminded of my flaws

too young lookin, too fresh lookin, too “I really wanna shove my foot up your ass down your throat and into a nutsack” lookin, too many pimples, too hi lookin, too black lookin, too strong lookin, too funny lookin…

most days I’m just me

weird, obscene, immature, foolish, grounded, outlandish, ridiculous, funny, not so funny, slow, witty, sassy, smiley, talkative, opinionated, awkward…me…

Why is that a crime. Why am I persecuted everyday for being me.

"What Do You see…when you look at Me?"

 do you see India, do you see youth, do you see child, do you see woman, do you see bravery, do you see napps, do you see happiness, do you see acceptance…

because I have accepted you-now take me into your bosom and do the same.

cause honestly this world is too small for waking up on most days just to be oblivious.


i can smell you on my clothing like a needle stuck to a junkies arm that never leaves

i can smelll youuuu

snnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnniiiifffffffffffffffffffffffff i can smell you



come be my romantic lover

lets karma sutra into sade’s words

be by my side

come so i can smellll youuuuuuuu


i want to smell you loneliness


be my lover



be in me like a stiff cock

fill that hunger

for a moment




empty………………………………………………………………………………..i do not want to die alone.

things i think about.

people say being in love is a special feeling between two people the rest are unaccounted for…

but what if it were 3…4…5…more

people say that you get what you get and you don’t get upset

but what if you don’t get a break…what if you haul ass through life and never get chill time

people say being a muslim is grounds for expulsion but putting ashes on your face of a dead man, drinking and eating from a dead man is okay

but what if they were both okay

people say at some you have to marry

but what if i just want to be with you-is that not enough

people say you should be whiter

but i don’t know how to do that

people say you look both ways when you cross the street

but i never looked-i just walked

people say you’re too young

but what it you’re too old

people say money is everything

but what if it didn’t exist, what then

people say be true to yourself

but never to everything

people say the grass is green because of nature’s cycle

but what if it were just aliens…

this is what i think about.

to a mother-

*for my sis.

mommy I want milk

mommy i want warrrrm milk

mommy read me a story

mommy let me watch buffy the vampire slayer with you

mommy am i really pretty

mommy your beautiful

mommy why is the sky blue

mommy why cant i have this barbie

mommy pokemon is on! pokemon is on!

mommy you make the bestest food everr

mommy daddys not being fair

mommy daddy did things-

mommy i can stay out late

mommy why are you being unfair

mommy im leaving

mommy i need some money

mommy lets bake a cake together

mommy where’s sissy, why won’t she come home

mommy why are you being mean

mommy i listen

mommy i do so much why aren’t you proud

mommy i dont understand

mommy why are you tired

mommy he’s a really nice guy

mommy do you need help

mommy dont laugh at me

mommy help me zip this up

mommy dont cry

mommy its not vodka i promise

mommy why are you crying

mommy my hair’s gonna get wet

mommy i wont let go i promise i wont let go

mommy i know i know i know

mommy i will hold

mommy your d-

mommy i-


mommy why won’t you let me go with you.


*No more writers Block Yay! Dada Poem-I shall do!

beer makes the chemicals go down the chemicals go down the chemicals go down

i said beer makes the chemicals go down the chemicals go down the chemicals go down

I make your dick go down your dick go down your dick go down

Said I make your dick go down cause I said it was Too Small.

we make the chemicals go down the chemicals go down the chemicals go down

we make the chemicals go down

and I don’t want your cock

If chickens could fly Oh if Chickens could fly

my rotisserie would be above my head

if chickens could fly oh if chickens could fly

rotisserie would be in my hands-

hmhm hmhmmm hmhm hmhmmmm hmhm hmhm hmhmmmmm

hmhm hmhmmm hmhm hmhmmmm hmhm hmhm hmhmmmmm

raise against the machine raise against the machine raise against the machine


raise against the machine raise against the machine

beer makes the chemicals go down the chemicals go down the chemicals go down said beer makes the chemicals go down…

I said I don’t want your Cock!

Free Boobs!

free to the woman who puts on flats instead of heels when she goes to the club in an outfit sustainable for feelgood not skankalicious for some brotha to be ignorant with because she be da Rachet Girl

free to the man who swipes makeup on his face and slaps it off for his lover in a bed made of liberty not of gawd (meant Jeebus)

free to the poet who says No I am not Slam-I am the Wings of dada and the beak of Howl

free to the chicken that clucks with happiness because it is not stuck in a cage shot up with shit; Cluck on my brotha Cluck on!

free to the bastard children who’s mothers dropped like rain and took jobs of minimum wage to make it happen for you

free to the black boy who grew with sagginpants into the black man in the suitcase with Stokely hiding inside waiting for the FBI

free to the mothafucka the nigguh who tried to mugg me last night I said “Nigguh I am just as broke as you so it aint even bout color”

free to the puppets so they might hold their own strings and maybe congress to would be free (lies)

free to the poet who said sound is just as raw as your stardust

and the canvas is just as raw as the milkyway

and the mic is just as raw as an implosion

and the drums are just as raw as freedom.

Free to those who listen and understand what this means.


a crack at Dada Poetry-

a crack a Dada poetry-WARNING this will be offensive, ie you won’t like it:



death to america death to america

i am the stereotype you typcasted into fear-fear me fear me

fuck america, death death! bombbabababbabombbbbbbbooooommmmmbbbbbb

bomb bomb! bomb bomb!

fuck the system fuck the man fuck gender race oppression

boooommmmmmmmbbbbbbbb nuclear weapons nuclear weapons new-clear weapons

the ants go marching in my head hurraw hurraw the ants go marching in my head hurraw hurraw

the ants go marching in my head the ants go marching in my head the ants go marching in my head, in my head in my head in my head-inst my head

ha hah ahhahbshunkshunkshunkshunkshunkshunk

kawpooooooooooo poopoopooopoopooopooopoooooo plooowee


our canvas

We paint our own canvases in life-

we pick the type of paint;

acryllic, oil, or a pastel, water colors,

when you mess up you try to cover it up or leave it there

the unexpected jump into it

clocks liquidify

as a distorted mirror

an unfinished piece of work

until you’re finished-


newsflash story johncoltrane died in vain john coltrane died in vain

newsflash story x is the new stabbed panther and y is in like dreadlocks but trends fade

newsflashnewsflash knews-flash we all died in a tranewreck with our cousin blues who tried to bore hiphop from an oppressed ghoul.

who told you-you was smart nigguh?

who told you-you could stand nigguh?


newsflash story color control-jayz got capped, rebuke wellset procreation “he said kill it before it grows, kill it before it grows”

newsflash story newsflash the last of the poets have suceeded nirvana and entered a state of perpertual cosmic balance with the prophet sun ra on mars where we should All be.

marians unlike blackians have a documented history within molecules of their napps that they wear as capes

newsflash story-we and me became seemingly nonexistent

now what ya’lll gone do.

the Warning before I read my poetry…

I am not the kind of poet that writes in catchy hymns with brainboning whys

Do Not assume that I wrote this for you.

but rather to conversate with myself and understand the grand mysteries of rebellion and hardship no its knot

"my mama this"

"my daddy that"

swag so hispter so my rhymes is phat

and no I haven’t adopted this sort of tone that’s the ohso overdoneoverplayed redone cover of

uhhhhhhh gasping for breath trying to to to

get the



and memememememe

and her ooo

baby you so sexy

gotta make you into a simile

No, this is not for you.

this is not my weepy interpretation of the struggle nor a feminists approach to already written spittin spoken then slammed

This is not for you.

if you get queasy from the carride or easily offended by a hitchhiker of unorthodox ways

This is not for you.

if you expect a singsong tapdance into your conscious without missing a step key note syllable or the footprint of mickeymouse feet

This is not for you. 

if you expect to pass go and collect $200

Then this is def not for you.

if you don’t get it

Then this is just not for you.


*drunk poem-don’t really write alot of these


in handheld positions on the matingstakeout dancefloor

the eyes meeting to picture what we imagined

my hand gripping leftside bedsheets and linens

right leg stretched out reaching heel ball toe toe toe toe toe toe

gaspgasp-sigh-stop-open eyes-come-digress-

dancefloor-still tapping our feelings away

song changes-we belt we jump we fling lyrics to hands


faces planted in the vine-twining mixture of my thighs sleeping around your waist

and calves half calved between your buttocks

and tugging skin-hair-skin-hair-skin-hair-nails-back-hair-nails-arms

bottom lip-tongue-top lip-nose-nails-nails-nails-fingers-skin-hair-back-nails-arms-bottom lip-tongue-top lip-nose-come

dancefloor-spinning sunglasses unshading down the nose persperation slipping to nostrils


tingling in me, tinglingtingling inside my unsatisfied gspotclitvaglipsouterrim

yes. yes.

song ends.



come to Be

peace be to god and all onto you

ohm shanti ohm

praise the river gone wind gone rain

to the earth in impermanent nature

hum allah ay-ay hum allah

hug ya brotha before his illusion dissapates


love the cruelty in acknowledging the duality

that both exist for each other

shalom aleychem

dance back to a young world

then dance into one of your own

he ping

be what you can be to become


learn peace as you have learned to read.

i’m tired of writin-

*I keep writin these: “What is wrong with black people/black culture these days” kinda thing, I’m sick of it but can’t stop. Shit, might as well start a revolution right?

im tired, of writin bout you niggas-yea i said it

i said im tired of writin bout you niggas

struggle on slavery struggle on rights struggle on writin to write n bein right to complain

cause you stopped strugglin

you forgot the play of children round harlems fire hydrants

you forgot how to double dutch with intelligence and how to keep that rope off you

you forgot.

and the oppression is best friends with injustice still playing puppetry with our lives

you stand on their shoulders waving your ashened dashiki flags

or you let them march over fileted bodies-passive and unchallenged now where is the challenge in that when you forgot to say fuck off.

black people what ya’ll gone do

cause niggas all niggas have are spiritual hymns from the gospel of beyonce and drake

niggas all niggas take stokely extra forgotten with a side of grilled panther in a grave for coloreds only-while angela davis’ fro was burnt to a crisp with a sprinkle of hot sauce

im tired of writin bout you niggas

wake up and look at the world young brotha

for it is rude for me to write this while you sleep.


reright this

middle school high school summer lyf

leafin thru seasons and junctures

releaf buds and lonely trees

unbutton and resow the seems like the cloth never ripped and you don’t have to be embarrassed

take back the bullshit from the bull was still fencedin n shit was in n

bag of chips n all that-go back onto the rack

restack cans of soup

chicken noodles, tomato, potato, broccoli and cheese

a part parts threads not shoes bound to our insightful soles

do to be done in misunderstanding

the loaf of bread will not make a sandwich not yet

yet to be had in yeastful

yet to be tasted

and yet…

our acronyms somehow become synonyms.

and the-saurus dont sense in

WMAO- Write My Ass Off
:) true.